I had just gotten home after a long day at work. Exhausted, I threw my bag on the couch and collapsed into bed without even changing out of my clothes. It didn't take long before I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I groggily reached for my phone on the nightstand to check the time.
As I swiped the screen to unlock it, something caught my eye—a notification from my photo gallery. Curious, I tapped it. A new photo had been added.
I froze.
The image was of me, sleeping peacefully in my bed, the same bed I had just woken up in. The angle was from the foot of the bed, as if someone had stood there, silently watching me. My heart began to race. I live alone. There's no one else here—there never has been.
I sat up, looking around my apartment. The door was locked. The windows were shut. There was no sign of anyone else having been there. But the photo... It was unmistakable. I checked the timestamp: 2:47 a.m. I was fast asleep at that time. My mind raced through possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.
Then I realized something even worse—the person who took the picture wasn't in the reflection of the mirror on the wall behind me. It was as if they didn't exist.
I bolted from my apartment without looking back, leaving my phone—and that haunting image—behind.
